I buried my imaginary family and Goldilocks under the porch, like in the movies, but easier using an imaginary shovel to dig an imaginary hole that their imaginary bodies would fit in. I couldn’t bring them with me, and I couldn’t let them stay without me. What would imaginary Mom do if she met my real Mom, without me there to referee? She knows it all. Might say too much in defending me. Might push real Mom too far. And imaginary Dad would be worse, he’s been angry with real Dad so long he might take a swing at him, and as a pacifist he’d not be able to look me in the eye. My imaginary little sister would be the worst between tantrums and telling tales, I’d end up in care with my real little sister and then how could we run away? Goldilocks can keep my imaginary sister company in the imaginary afterlife and my family can pretend to be the bears. Mama Bear, Papa Bear and Baby Bear and everything will be just right.
Goldilocks helped me plan how to kill them kindly, with imaginary poison that she said would be tasteless in our imaginary porridge, but I said they’d prefer imaginary ice-cream that we could have together one last imaginary time. And before I left my imaginary family and Goldilocks for good, I finished my imaginary ice-cream and found a quiet space under the porch in the evening light where I buried my imaginary self.
Rosaleen Lynch, an Irish community worker and writer in the East End of London with stories in lots of lovely places besides her imagination and can be found on Twitter @quotes_52 and 52Quotes.blogspot.com